Rage: Royal Bastards MC Read online

  “Yes,” I sigh, relieved. “Spend the night. Tomorrow, we’ll figure shit out.”

  She swallows, then nods, determination lighting her eyes. “Okay.”

  Okay. Let’s do this.

  Six

  Willa

  Words from inside the car keep rolling around my mind. “No one owns you.”

  It’s been such a long time since anyone has spoken to me—not at me. My instincts are to obey, obligated to pay my brother’s debt, but that’s not what this man wants. He said I’m free if I choose to be.

  Can I really make it on my own? Is this my chance to see life outside of my brother’s cage?

  Gabe pulls down a long driveway. A beautiful wooden house comes into view beneath a canopy of large trees. It’s at least twice, maybe three times, the size of the one I live in, surrounded by fields, no other houses visible.

  “I’m still working on it,” he informs me. Partly built buildings sit just to the back of the property, extending the impressive size. “The garage is still under construction.” He cuts the engine and gets out, coming around to open my door for me. “But the main rooms are finished,” he rambles.

  When he came barreling through the door of Milo’s office, I was breathless and frozen in confusion and shame, but despite that, it felt like I knew this man, a internal pull toward him I can’t quite figure out, but it was telling me that things were going to change. When I noticed the patch on the other man, I thought I would die in that small office along with my brother. Royal Bastards were well known in our world—and people you never wanted to owe anything to. It’s madness for Milo to be involved with them. He is mad.

  The night air bites at my exposed skin, causing a shiver.

  Gabe ushers me inside before I can take in my full surroundings. I find myself in a foyer type entrance. The décor is minimal. Some rooms don’t even have furniture. “Sorry about the lack of homey shit. I only moved in fully a couple months ago and have a lot to finish before I fill it with furniture.”

  I nod. It’s weird that he cares what I think. Though, maybe he doesn’t and is just being polite. Even empty, the house is stunning, and nothing like I’m used to.

  “You hungry?” he asks, quirking a brow.

  I think about the question, trying to remember the last time I ate. The hunger pangs are something I’m used to. “Sure.” I clasp my hands together, unsure what I’m supposed to be doing.

  Taking me through to the kitchen, he does this cute scrunching of his nose while tugging at his ear when he opens the fridge and sees it’s empty. Moving to a cupboard, he mumbles something under his breath, then points to basics: bread, sauce, pasta. I’m used to less.

  “You’re welcome to anything you can find. There’s not much. I’m not home often enough to warrant buying things. I can order you something if you’d prefer.” He runs a hand through his hair, and I take a second to look him over.

  Light brown hair effortlessly styled over his head. Neatly trimmed beard that makes him look older than I bet he is. There’s youthfulness in his eyes, but also life experience, the green deep and enchanting. I trace the circumference of his body. He looks strong, powerful. My mind reminds me of how he disarmed Milo with ease, manhandling him without breaking a sweat.

  His broad shoulders fill out his jacket perfectly. Long limbs. Stacked muscle. I bet he has abs hiding beneath his tee. Despite his size, he moves with the grace and agility of someone lighter, smaller in stature. Maybe he learned that to disarm people. Am I disarmed?

  I’m not sure if it’s him putting me at ease or my own life experience telling me I’ve been through so much bad shit, this couldn’t hold a candle to it. Whatever it is, he doesn’t scare me. Even if he was to demand my brother’s payment from my body, fear isn’t something I feel in this moment. It’s like I’m floating outside my body, watching the scene unfold before me rather than actually being a part of it. He doesn’t feel like a stranger. Maybe it’s just me waking up after being asleep in my life for so long. I’ve never been allowed to socialize with people, so it feels special to be around another human being who isn’t watching me, monitoring my movements just to feed information back to my brother.

  “Willa?” He says my name like it’s been on his tongue a million times before. My heart skips a beat.

  “Yes?”

  “Do you want me to order something?”

  “Oh, I can make something from what you have. It’s not a problem,” I offer, needing to busy myself.

  “Okay. Don’t be afraid to help yourself.”

  “Okay,” I tell him, taking a few things from the cupboard.

  “I’m going to grab a shower, and maybe after you’ve eaten, I can show you the room you’ll be staying in.”

  “Sure. That sounds great. Thank you.” I offer a smile and watch him leave the room, checking back on me over his shoulder.

  I could leave while he’s showering—run—never stop running—but there’s a spark in my chest, a fluttering of something I’ve never felt before: hope.

  Seven

  Gabe

  The smell of food hits my nostrils as soon as I step out of the shower and into my room. It’s weird having a woman in the house cooking. Even though I bought this place in the hope to fill it with a wife and kids, I didn’t expect to bring home a stray, as Jameson put it, yet here we fucking are. He was just yanking my chain, but I do have a habit of stepping in when I think people are being treated unfairly or struggling with pain. The funny thing is, Jameson is the exact same way. He was the one who took my broken ass under his wing in school and gave me someone who believed in me, pushed me, fucking loved me. We’re big, bad bastards, but even animals like us need someone who’s got their back. We’d die for each other, and extending what he taught me, showing compassion toward those who fucking need it, is something I’m willing to do.

  Slipping on some sweats and a tee, I make my way through the house to the kitchen, stopping in the doorway. Willa is at my stove humming to herself as she stirs something in a pot. Smells Italian: herbs, garlic, tomatoes. Her body sways to her own beat, the fabric of her dress thin and short, showcasing a long pair of tan legs.

  “Smells good,” I announce. She doesn’t appear surprised by my presence. This girl is used to not having privacy.

  “It’s just pasta.” She shrugs, turning down the stove and opening cupboards in search of plates. Pushing off the doorframe, I go to show her where they are. We end up reaching for the same handle, our fingers brushing.

  “Sorry,” I pull back abruptly.

  She laughs at my overreaction. It’s genuine and really fucking pretty. Musical.

  “I’m not going to break if you touch me, Gabe.”

  “I know. Sorry.” I shake my head to clear it. “I just don’t want you thinking…” I smile as I trail off, feeling like an idiot.

  “Thinking what? That you want sex from me?” she says, so blatant and honest. I’ve never met a woman who just speaks what she’s thinking. “Because you’ve already made it clear I don’t have to do that.”

  “Right, okay, I’m sorry. I’m not used to this.” I point to the stove and us.

  “This?” She raises a brow. “Didn’t Jasper say you always pick up strays?”

  “Jameson,” I correct. “And he was just being a dick.”

  “So you don’t go around picking up random women, offering them food and a place to crash?” she teases…at least I think so.

  “I don’t make it a habit.” I grin, taking the plates from her hand and placing them on the table with some cutlery. She seems so at ease moving around the kitchen, like she’s lived here longer than I have.

  “Beer?” I question, opening the beer fridge and twisting the cap off one. Unlike my food fridge, this one is full. Priorities are a little off kilter.

  “Sure. Why not?”

  She places the pot of pasta in the center of the tiny, four-chair, circular starter table, and we both take a seat. I didn’t think I’d need a bigger table wi
th it only being me living here, but now it feels too small. We’re so close, her intoxicating scent washes over me. I’m mindful not to touch my big clunky legs to hers, not wanting to spook her or put out the wrong impression. “This looks amazing. Thanks for cooking.”

  “Thanks for feeding me,” she quips, taking the beer I placed down for her and drawing a swig. She’s fascinating to watch, her eyes squinting in displeasure as the liquid hits her tongue.

  A chuckle rumbles my chest. “Haven’t had beer before?”

  Her brother owned a bar, surely she has. “Wait—are you legal?”

  Fuck, why is this the first time I’m even thinking this? Because you saw her fucking naked and assumed she was older. You’re a pervert.

  “I’m nineteen, nearly twenty, and Milo didn’t let me drink.” She rolls her eyes and serves up the food before picking up her fork and digging in. “He didn’t let me do anything. Our dad left when we were kids and our mom died, so he has abandonment issues.”

  She offers up like we’ve known each other longer than a couple hours, unashamed of where she comes from or what she’s been through. A twinge in my chest makes me want to reach for her and hold her, rescue her, fix her. It’s macho-man bullshit. She’s not a project or an object to piece back together. She’s a human being and has never been treated like one. But fuck, there’s something about her. Maybe neither of us having parents is bonding us on some subconscious level. Fuck if I know.

  “And what about you?” I want to know what she thinks, feels, her take on herself, her life.

  “Me what?” she asks around a mouthful of food. She’s refreshing, eating enthusiastically and swigging more of the beer she clearly doesn’t like. Her nose twitching as the dull taste hits her tongue is fucking adorable.

  “I can get you some water or a soda if you don’t like the beer,” I offer, feeling shitty that she’s suffering through it.

  “It tastes really bad. Why do you like this?” She covers her mouth and lets out a giggle.

  I grab a soda and slide it across the table. “Thank you.”

  “So…” I push the pasta around my plate. It tastes fucking horrible, but I don’t want to offend her by pushing it away. “Do you have abandonment issues?” It’s a bold question, but with her being open, I’m hoping she won’t be offended.

  “I’ve been my brother’s prisoner since I was nine years old. I have issues, but they aren’t abandonment issues.” The corners of her lips twitch.

  I study her features, wondering how her life could have been if she’d been born to a good family who didn’t abandon or suffocate her.

  “If you could have anything in the world, what would it be?”

  This piques her interest. Excitement dances in her eyes. “I’d want to shop for clothes I actually like and choose for myself. Oh, and get this cut!” She pulls a funny face as she picks up a handful of the dark curls cascading all the way down her back. “Mr. Right insisted I keep it long.” She shudders, and I make a mental note to find out more about this Mr. fucking Right. “Maybe find a job, make some friends,” she adds quietly, caressing the can of soda absentmindedly. “I don’t know. I guess I just want to learn about the world outside of Milo, you know?”

  Yeah, I know. You will. “I’m going to help you do that.”

  Large eyes focus on me, the color of leaves in the autumn, brown with tones of green and yellow. Fucking hypnotizing. “Why?” she sits back, her hands falling into her lap.

  “Why what?”

  “Why do you want to help me? Why do you care what happens?”

  “Because it’s the right thing to do. How you’ve been living is wrong.” No one stepped in to fucking rescue her from that motherfucker when she couldn’t rescue herself. I was powerless to help the girls in the system when I was a kid, but I have connections and means now. “Do you have other relatives?”

  “None who care. I don’t want your pity, Gabe. Families have to sacrifice for each other. Milo is controlling, but he loves me in his own way. Without him, I’d have no one.”

  “You have me now,” I say without thinking.

  “I don’t understand why,” she says again, her brows scrunching, her tone almost desperate. “No one has ever cared or spoken up for me.” She holds her hand up and I notice a slice on her palm. “That’s not true. One person spoke up to stop Milo and Milo stabbed him to death right there in our living room, like he was a stray dog who dared bare teeth.” Sadness coats her eyes.

  “There doesn’t always have to be a reason or motive for people to help. I’m fucking sorry you had to witness that shit, Willa. I wish I’d found you sooner, but here we are. Just accept what I’m offering.”

  “Milo will expect me to be returned home,” she warns. “Did you hear what I said? He killed someone for speaking up for me.” I hold back the amusement at her statement. To her, Milo is dangerous, the big bad. To me, he’s a fucking punk I’ll put to ground. Killing that asshole would be a pleasure. In fact, it’s probably the only way she will truly be free of him.

  “You let me worry about that.”

  “He’ll punish us both.”

  “He won’t get near you, I promise. Now, let’s take a look at that cut, yeah? One step at a time.”

  She bites her lip, her brows tugging down, her eyes welling.

  “One step at a time.” She sniffles.

  Eight

  Gabe

  “Do I want to know what’s in the bag?” Jameson sighs, rubbing his hand down his beard as he pulls open the front door to let me inside.

  “It’s money—the amount Milo owes the Royal Bastards.”

  I can see the wheels churning through his eyes as he settles on a stool at the kitchen bar. “You want to bury him and are willing to pay off his debt to get the green light.” He scoffs, shaking his head.

  “It’s the only way this girl will have a chance.”

  “Extreme for a girl you just fucking met a day ago.” He looks at the watch on his wrist. “Oh, hours ago. You sweet on her?”

  “It’s not like that,” I growl.

  Holding up his hands, amusement shows in his eyes. “It’s your money.”

  “You wanna put some clothes on?” I gesture to his body, rolling my eyes. He’s wearing a pair of tight-fitting boxers showing his junk and leather shitkickers. He looks like a male stripper.

  “Asshole, you woke me up. I want to kick your ass out and go back to bed.”

  “What’s with the boots?”

  “I didn’t know who was going to be at the door. I wanted to be prepared.” He toes them off and folds his arms over his chest, his eyes narrowing.

  “Prepared for what, dirt kicking?” I mock, dodging the piece of fruit he launches at me from a fruit bowl. “You finished, asshole?”

  “Fruit throwing, really?”

  “I could swing a fist if you prefer. You want to hurry this shit up so I can go back to dreaming I left your dumbass in the desert?”

  “You think their prez will go for it?”

  “I think they’re expecting to have to put this asshole in the ground themselves, you could just wait out the couple days.”

  Footfalls sound on the stairs, and a mass of blonde curls attached to a small body comes barreling into the room. “Fucking perfect, you woke the princess.”

  Swooping his little sister up into his arms, he pats her back and coos in her ear. It’s weird as fuck seeing him stepping up as a father figure so effortlessly. Jameson always wanted the life of a drifter, the open road, no responsibilities, and then his kid sisters needed him and here he fucking is. He holds a finger to his lips and disappears out of the room before returning a few minutes later in sweats and a tee.

  “She’s back down. You’re fucking lucky. You wake ’em, you take ’em,” he says, pointing to upstairs. I can’t hold in the grin.

  “Where were we? Oh yeah, you have no fucking chill. Three days.”

  “I want it done now. This girl…she’s been trapped by him long enough.”
>
  “And she’s okay with your plan to kill him?” He raises a questioning brow, fiddling with some sippy cup shit on the counter.

  I don’t bother with the answer. He already fucking knows I haven’t mentioned any of this to her. After I cleaned her palm and stuck a Band-aid on it, I showed her to one of the spare rooms, waited until she fell asleep, got the money together, and drove straight over to here.

  “If you’re sweet on this girl…”

  “I’m not,” I grind out for the millionth time.

  “If you are,” he points at me, “and you go down this route, it will come back to bite you in the ass.”

  “So I should just leave it to chance and put her at risk?”

  He sighs, exasperated. Placing his hand on the counter, he dips his head.

  “You should let the Royal Bastards deal with him and go fucking home to keep an eye on your girl so nothing happens between now and then.”

  I know he’s right and I’m acting out of heightened emotion. This is why I came here and not the Royal Bastards’ clubhouse. Jameson keeps me straight when my head steers me into crazy.

  “She’s not my girl,” I grumble, kicking the bag and running a hand through my hair.

  “Yeah, because you’re here with a bag full of green out of the goodness of your heart.”

  “Is that so hard to believe?”

  “Listen.” He comes around the counter and places a hand on my shoulder, looking me dead in the eyes. “I think you have good intentions, but I also think that girl is all kinds of beautiful and it’s natural to feel a pull to that kind of beauty, but she’s been through a shitload if anything she said about her brother selling her is true.” It fucking is. I know it. And there’s more, like killing in front of her.

  “Which is why she needs someone looking out for her,” I defend.

  “She needs someone who isn’t looking at her like a snack.” He pokes me in the chest. “Think with this…” Then jerks his head to my junk. “Not where Gabe Junior wants to bury himself.”